We've Got Everything
by YFWE
Summary: He's gonna ask her, and he's pretty sure he knows the answer. But it's a long drive.


**Happy New Year!**

 **We've Got Everything**

The one thing I didn't expect to see outside the city was the billboards.

I guess I just never really thought about it, you know? Zootopia is full of them, but they're all, like, on top of buildings or taxis, or inside the subway cars – or sometimes plastered _on_ them, but that's a whole other story. And anyway, every time I've visited Bunnyburrow with Judy, we've taken the train out, which renders the countryside almost a complete blur at the speed that baby gets once it's out in the sticks.

We sleep on that thing, anyway. Well, I do. You ever try catching some shuteye on the subway? Impossible. Plus, the feeling of sitting down, shutting your eyes and waking up somewhere completely new is a personal favorite.

Judy usually doesn't sleep on the train. Says she's too anxious, too excited to see her folks. Except she's asleep right now. Huh. Weird.

Anyway, the billboards. I've probably seen a dozen since we got on the road. I'm not even sure why they exist half the time, really. Half the stuff they're advertising is headquartered in Zootopia – Bearberry, Lululemmings, Trader Doe's, you know, that sort of thing. Gotta go the other way for that. Come to think of it, are U-turns illegal on the roads out here? Probably not, especially when you get out this far. What are you gonna do, hit another car? There's gotta _be_ another car for that to happen.

Guess the rush after the holiday died down by now. Not a lot of folks going out into the burrows and the outskirts this time of the week. Way we're doing it is weird, but this is what Carrots wanted – the holiday in the city, New Year's in the country. I don't blame her. I hear the Hopps farmstead is a nightmare from the week leading up to it until the big day, and I'm not looking to get my tail pulled by some toddlers for an entire weekend like last spring.

Heck, Fluff herself had some sort of PTSD when she came back from Bunnyburrow last year when we spent that week apart. Jumpy, peering around corners in our apartment to see if anyone was there before rounding them as though anyone _would_ be, bundling herself up in blankets in the bedroom some nights after work. Took her weeks to come down from it. Not surprised she skipped this year.

Plus, we got to spend the night before with my mom this year, which brought back some… some good memories, yeah, good ones, that's for sure. Judy hadn't seen how foxes celebrate the holiday – I mean, yeah, I told her about it before; she asked, feigned interest at least. But I'd always been content to let her spend it the way she always did, how I suppose most rabbits do – you know, the side of the holiday that involves trees, lots and lots of trees.

Rabbits and trees, I just don't get it – they can't even climb the dang things, or at least they have a hard time getting up 'em, let alone back down. I think she learned that the hard way back at the academy, or so I've _heard_ , but she won't talk about it. Note to self: email that drill instructor, the polar bear, jeez, what's her name… ah well, it's in my inbox somewhere, it'll auto-fill or whatever you call it. Anyway. Email. Get answers. Lay it on a little. She has kids, right? Ask about the kids.

Sheesh. Getting off track today, Wilde. All over the place. Is this what driving long distances does to mammals?

I mean, that's what they say in movies, right? Think they talk about it on that one Modest Mouse album everyone loves, too – or the opposite of it, or something. I wouldn't know; we never owned a car growing up. Nope, no road trips for the Wildes, public transport all the way. Only learned to drive at all because Finnick let me behind the wheel of his van here and there. Got a license – wasn't stupid. Though maybe I was a _little_ stupid, because I was thinking of letting it expire and just getting a normal ID, but Judy insisted – said it'd be fun to drive back home sometime, rent a car instead of taking the train every time. Scenic that way, eh? And we wouldn't have to rely on one of her siblings to take us into town or anywhere else we wanted to go.

Heh. Right. Then she sleeps the whole way. Figures. I'm just the chauffeur. I'll ask Manchas if Mr. Big's hiring.

Guess I don't mind. Gives me some time to think things over, plan everything out, think about the – oh, hey, another billboard, what's it say this time? Got… milk? No! You're kidding me. I thought they'd gotten rid of that slogan years ago. Maybe the donating pool is less thin out here. Right, yeah, that's probably true, but the _slogan_? Ah, oldie but a goodie. Gotta remember to snap a pic on the way back.

Almost thought to take one just now. Nope. Nooooope. Driving. There were, like, five different questions on the refresher course about texting and driving. And if I stop right now, I might wake her up – never fails, like when you click off the fan you keep on in your room because it helps a certain bunny sleep, and then the moment you do, _rustle rustle_ , "hey, Nick, why'd you turn the fan off?" Deep sigh. Fan back on.

Kind of enjoying the peace and quiet, anyway. Let's keep going.

Besides, wanna make it to her parents' place before sundown. I'm probably a good night driver – these eyes, they're a curse, I'll tell ya – but I'm not looking to risk it my first time out with nothing between me and accidentally driving into a pond except GPS and a snoozing co-pilot. _Cute_ co-pilot, at that.

May not be allowed to say it, but I'm allowed to think it.

You know, come to think of it, I've always wondered if the line between calling a rabbit cute and not is actually as species-specific as she says it is. Cottontail to cottontail, sure, I get it. But what about… family? Interspecies stuff that isn't platonic. I haven't really talked about it with anyone else – we've met couples like us in the city (never in the country – oh jeez, no), but it's never come up, these sorta-unspoken rules about how things change when you add a different mammal to the equation.

Maybe it's still not acceptable, regardless of marital status? Or only OK in the comfort of your own home but never, ever in public? I could see Carrots going for that, actually. Mushy in bed or on the couch, at the dinner table, whatever – but if I said it in front of Francine or someone else at the precinct, she'd end me. And bunnies are pretty quick at most things, so I'm guessing the end would be swift.

Francine. She likes us, right? She might want to come to the ceremony if it's small. Or, read: small, as in the one I'd prefer. We haven't really… discussed it yet, per se. Obviously.

Wait, is it obvious? If it was obvious, then why'd I say it? Why does anyone use that word? It's like saying something goes without saying.

Yeesh, get a load of this billboard. Some cheese barn way on past Bunnyburrow. That's literally what it's called: cheese barn. Grandpa's Cheese Barn. Wonder how many tourists have been swayed by the promise of someone's grandfather and his barn full of cheese. Y'know, on second thought, Judy's a cheese fan. A cheese girl. Cheese girl? Girl who likes cheese. Space in the middle. I'll have to ask if she's ever been.

Judy. _Judy_. Ugh. Find myself saying it way more nowadays. Carrots, sure. Fluff, yeah. But _Judy_ , it keeps popping into my brain more, like, "oh, there's _Judy_ " or "Hey, _Judy_ , cream in your coffee?"

Does that mean we're getting boring? Stale? _Older_? I don't know. Maybe it's familiarity, but then again, maybe not – my folks, mom and dad, I don't think I ever heard them call each other by their real names ever, except when they were mad. Nicknames, it was always nicknames.

Oh. Ha. Well, I guess I understand that part of my psyche now. These drives, they work wonders for your introspective side.

But no, no, the nickname thing – she's still Carrots to me, and she always will be, because _how could she not be_ , but… hm. This is a tough one. Perhaps it all blends together nowadays? That familiarity thing. Could call her any name, doesn't matter, whatever's in my arsenal, and it still means the same thing, even if one of those is some boring old _normal_ name. Well, guess it could be worse – could be going off what the birth certificate says, right? Judith. Jeez, even _thinking_ it makes me feel 30 years older.

I mean, I'll have to say it when it all happens, won't I? No, not _Judith_ , though I guess that might be a nice formal touch… Judith Laverne Hopps, will you – OK, nah, Judy it is. That's the safe route, I think. And any less formal feels a little disingenuous. Then again, maybe that's more on brand for me. She might _expect_ it that way.

Does she expect it? Does she expect this at all? I still don't know. Still. Don't. Know.

It looked like maybe she did when we visited the big tree over by the ZNN headquarters before going over to Mom's place. We got someone to take a photo of the two of us in front of the tree – gotta admit, it was a great photo opportunity, and I loved the way the red and green lights reflected onto her gray fur and that dark blue sweater her parents got her last year. It looked warm, snug, straight out of a hot chocolate commercial or something.

She looked happy, best of all, really happy, content. And well, yeah, I was too. We stared into each other's eyes for a while; held up a family of porcupines who wanted to get a picture from the same vantage point, but they survived. There must have been something in my own that got her amethyst ones looking expectant almost, hopeful. You know, like… _Will it ever get any better than this? Than this moment right now?_ And if it never will, then what better time to ask than… right here?

I thought about it, I really did. But no. I needed to ask her parents first.

Which is exceedingly old-fashioned of me, I get it. Go ahead, subconscious, poke fun of me all you want. I deserve it, if only for how unreceptive to the idea I've made you over years of scoffing at this sort of thing.

It's… it's hard to explain, though. You have this feeling that, yeah, she'll say yes – because how could she _not_ say yes, and how could _you_ not if the roles were reversed – but life doesn't always work out some way where everyone sees how happy you are and thinks, welp, then that's good enough for me. Nu-uh. I could have done it at the ZNN tree, or maybe at Mom's, or even in Stu and Bonnie's place without saying a word to anyone else.

But this is supposed to be one of the happiest, if not _the_ happiest time of your life. Why risk taking away even an ounce of joy from the moment because someone you care about didn't approve? Sure, we'd probably do it anyway, but the moment wouldn't be… right. Not totally right, anyway.

I don't know if rabbits do it – ask, I mean – but foxes certainly do, or at least, that's what Mom and Dad told me when I asked one day. I was probably 8 years old, maybe 9, no older than that. Just kinda went for it, out of the blue, asked the question. Didn't before because… shoot, I was a kid, sometimes these things just pop into your head, and you've got such a bad filter that you blurt it out before you even think any more about it.

It was a lot easier for my parents, apparently. Both my sets of grandparents lived in Zootopia too, both out in the Meadowlands. Made family visits simple, that's for sure. My dad popped over to his folks' first, then hers, then home in time for supper. Not bad. Nifty.

At least Mom was easy on my end. She knew before we came over, even – it's a wonder she kept it a secret the whole time. Judy's parents, on the other paw… eh, look, I guess I could've done it over the phone, but that's a liiiittle too informal for the occasion.

Which is what makes this trip all the more terrifying: I don't know if they're going to be OK with it. I think they will be; why wouldn't they? Bonnie called me the son she never had the last time I was over, which pissed off a couple of her kids within earshot, but hey, I can't help what my charm does to people – especially rabbits, apparently. And Stu, he's calmed down _a lot_ since the first meeting, and everything's great between us – heck, we even text back and forth occasionally about this or that, usually mundane stuff, usually instigated by him, not me.

But there's the not-knowing part. There's _always_ that, yeah, but this one's important, so it feels a little bigger than it might usually. It's like… OK, again, yes, I'm probably still going to ask regardless of what they say, but…

This truck ahead's going to actually get in his lane, right? _Right? RIGH-_ oh, all right, there he goes. Sheesh, it's a two-lane road, fella. Yeah, yeah, I'm looking at you, bud, _you_. No, _don't_ shrug, this is not a shruggable offense.

Ah, screw it. Not worth it.

Closest to road rage I've ever gotten. At least, I assume that's what it feels like. Good thing I didn't have to swerve or something – would have woken up my trusty co-pilot over here.

How _does_ she sleep for this long, anyway? We've been on the road two hours now and she conked out when we could still see the Palm Hotel in the rearview mirror. Eh, well, you know, she didn't sleep that well last night, remember? Blamed it on that cold she's been getting over.

I think that not-knowing part, though… that only extends to her parents, and even then, I'm like 99 percent sure we're in the clear. We've been dating for, what, two years now? Known each other for longer. After that initial shock, no one in her family's really been that opposed to us – not outwardly, anyway.

But Judy, I'm positive she's cool with it. Yeah, we haven't talked about it exactly, but… yeah, we're good.

Because everything's good, isn't it? Maybe a little _too_ good, or at least that's the way I first thought of it because hoooo boy, not used to things going this well for me over an extended period of time. I've settled into that sort of blissful tedium, though, that feeling where that joy hits your brain every day and there's no reason in sight for it to end so it becomes the new normal. So now it's not _too good_ , it's just… good. Wait, no, that came out wrong. Good as in great. It's great. She's great. We're great. Life's great.

Let's run down a list of things that are great. The job is, definitely – can't complain there, not even about Chief Buffalo Butt and his memos. Friends are great; I have more than I probably ever did, even growing up. Uh… apartment's nice, now that we're together and not living in some dumps on opposite sides of town. The, er, _behind closed doors_ stuff works out just fine somehow, can't complain there. Maybe that part's only good but… nah, never mind, it's great _because_ it's good, because it works at all.

So, yeah. I think I know the answer – we've got everything, don't we? _Almost_ everything.

I just have to figure out the plan. I initially… hah, here's the funny thing, I actually _did_ think about something during the holiday first, but that's cheesy, right? Everyone does it around that time. Not that waiting for New Year's is much less clichéd, but at least it is, you know, _less clichéd_. I can handle that.

Ugh, I just hope the ring fits. That's the struggle with this kind of thing – you want it to be a surprise, right? But asking for circumferences and stuff, that's such a dead giveaway. Mom offered to let me use one of Grandma's old family heirloom rings for it, but I think that one might as well have been an ankle bracelet for Carrots. The one I got is in the ballpark, at least. And Clawhauser was right – good jewelers, nice people, no runaround. I can't wait to call him when it's all over; feel like he's been about to burst since he's found out. Not because of the donuts this time, either.

The ring. Orange diamond in the center, little bits of green circling it. C'mon. Of course I had to do it that way.

I don't think they have fireworks out in Bunnyburrow – at least, not _legal_ ones, or ones that are set off at some predetermined time for television broadcast purposes. The ZNN feed will do, yeah. Midnight kiss and then… voila.

Right? Also too clichéd? Maybe I'll… I'll take her out to the barn out back, yeah, that place. The place from that time when we thought we were still friends, and I was just coming home with her to help with some end-of-the-season farmwork and because the Hopps folks wanted to meet the fox who they'd heard so much about. The place where we took a breather, talked about the stars while sitting directly beneath them, marveling about how many you could see without Zootopia's lights getting in the way. The place where she got that look, and I guess I did too, and suddenly we kissed, and then… well, then I tripped over a bucket and we fell on the ground, scraped our knees a little bit.

But if a few scraped knees are the worst that life's thrown at us, I guess I can take that.

Oh. Jeez! She's moving! Heh. About time.

Or… no, never mind, just one of those mid-sleep things where you're kind of awake and aware, but not really, not fully, and you're just rolling over to the other side, to face the other way for a change.

Which means she's facing me now. Gotta cut it out; I'm probably giving her all these contemplative looks over the past half hour and she'll notice if she so happens to wake up. And then she'll ask what's on my mind, and yeah, I'll lie – of course I'll lie – but I don't really _want_ to lie, so… so let's leave it at this, I guess.

I like the barn idea, anyway. Just have to figure out what to say now. Hm… eh… I'll probably wing it.

Aha, another billboard. What do we have this time?

 **END**


End file.
